by Enrique Cruz

I got a few letters on race relations in 2007, and I feel addressing them here in a honest fashion, as “Jack X” has done, is very healthy to show all sides of the issue.   

Way back when I started shooting porn — it was mainly to fill a void in the market place; I picked the original name “La Mancha” because it represented to me a mixing of races. Like that Paul McCartney / Stevie Wonder duet:

Ebony and Ivory
Live together in perfect harmony
Side by side on my piano keyboard
Oh Lord, why don’t we ?

This letter I got (below) on my own article: “Fear of a White dick!” sums up the tone

of the rest of the e-mail feedback:

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Enrique likes live music. Nothin’ too bizarre there; lots of guys do. In fact, I kind of think gay men need music more than our str8 friends do. Butch or not so, we’re still gay and we demand a fucking soundtrack to our lives, damn it.

Me? Nah. I can take it or leave it. And this gets me some seriously alarmed looks when I express my attitude. Sure, I like good pop. Yeah, I’m gay and Sondheim is a genius, yadda, yadda.  And I even go a little nuts over a new tune once in a while, like when I first heard the old-time funk of the Scissor Sisters.

But I’m usually OK with no sounds. Unless it’s semi-hot guys with guitars and nothing but socks to wear.

- Jack X, a fan of the RHCP only as far as they hang

by Enrique Cruz

I wrote about my big night on the town last night; but, on the drive into Manhattan, this “Lil Mama” song was playing on the radio and I can’t stop singing it (I’m starting to believe lipgloss can solve all the worlds problems):

I love live music…and music in general (and even fancy myself a great singer…at least in the shower)…so, whatchu know ’bout me? Know any cool concerts…drop me a dime!

Was talkin’ to Enrique last night (it wasn’t easy, what with his pleading for me to make him my bitch AGAIN). See, I’m still trying to sort out the whole mess of why white guys get off on Latino, Blatino, or thug porn/sex. More so than ever.

No way around it: racism is at the core, albeit a funky, reverse-racism. It’s like the privileged white boys who make the rappers rich - we want that forbidden, more elemental, street dick. To a lot of us, getting down with a guy is trouble. That’s how we were raised. So nice, clean white cock sanitizes the experience and utterly kills the turn-on. If we’re going to jump into what’s bad anyway, it better be pretty fucking bad. And really bad is crossing the cultural/race lines.

It gets worse. No matter how enlightened white men claim to be, there’s still a powerful feeling running through them that Black and Latin dudes are more animalistic, if only by virtue of having been denied traditional white backgrounds, neighborhoods, jobs and everything else. In the white mind those darker cocks are…well, purer. They haven’t been softened by advantages and they shoot with anger. In a world where white truckers today are sissified and too cum-hungry, there’s no where else to go to get the real thing.

It’s racist, of course. I’m guilty of it myself because - and I swear, this is completely born from personal experiences - I like Latin guys. Why? They bring a degree of passion to the table that’s amazing, and missing from the average Sean or Jason encounter.

PS I don’t feel all that guilty about this bias. You know how many guys have unzipped for me because, and only because, I’m Italian?

- Jack X (or Giacomo X)

by Enrique Cruz

This week we cast a spotlight on the New DVD-r “Doing the Butt 22” (on sale exclusively at our webstore). We’re posting an extended clip below on the first scene: “Pablo 2 & Friend”

What I remember most from shooting this scene of two first timers is…

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by Enrique Cruz

If you’re reading this…give me a high five!  My name is Enrique Cruz…and I started this blog a week ago to showcase my rambles, behind the scenes stories, video clips of my life….and to open my house to you.

Join the lively conversation…I was chatting with “Jack X” on what makes a blog fun; great writing is a part of it, but, at the end of the day, “conversation” is the key ingredient.

(if you can tell by now, there are currently two of us writing on here…Enrique and Jack X…I’m the one wearing clean underwear).

We agree that using your fingers to express yourself on blogs…and to allow others into the conversation is what makes for a great blog.  The great thing about this blog is that you can touch me in ways momma would certainly approve…by reaching your mouse over to the left and logging in you can leave comments for everyone to read.   

I’m an open book like that.

“So, you’re gonna be honest about your own life in the bed?” A friend pressed me when I brought up the idea of becoming a porn blogger.

“Sure, why not,” I said.  “If it fits into the disscussion.” 

“Are you gonna let people call you a jerk if they don’t agree with your thoughts?” My friend pressed on.

“Yes, you can call me a jerk,” but, I am very sensitive…and you might make me cry like a bitch. 

So, go ahead:  Call me a jerk….when you disagree with me.  But, join the conversation.

Before I do any more posting, I guess you should know how I came to be here and what, exactly, makes me so tight with Enrique. This is his blog, after all. But I’m Jack X. How does this happen? What’s the deal? Is the backstory dirty?

The truth lies below. You just have to choose it. The first dude to get it right wins…well, lemme see what I got to give.

1) Enrique Cruz is adorable but schizoid. Jack X is his other, hotter, persona.

2) I am Enrique’s long-lost dad. (OK, it’s a stretch.)

3) To fund his latest movies, Enrique had to turn to the mob. I’m a soldier with it and this is the don’s way of keeping an eye on him.

4) There was this party. Enrique met me and begged me to sleep with him. No, I said. Let me blog for you. I’m kinky.

5) I’m a writer (more on that soon) and EC was looking for a sympatico co-blogger. I begged him to sleep with me first. No, he said. Blog for me. He’s not really kinky.

You pick it, guys. Hint: it’s not # 2.

- Jack X

I could’ve used a director liker Cruz back when I did porn. With that kind of adorable inspiration, there woulda been no counting the money shots.

Let me tell you what you already know: making gay porn isn’t easy. It isn’t loads (sorry) of fun. It definitely isn’t the fantasy double-play of getting paid for hot sex a lot of guys think it’ll be. My first time? OK. Unzip, and let’s go.

It was a pretty low-budget shoot and I was geared to fuck a boy who looked really hot. It didn’t go well. My first mistake was the classic one of holding back on jerking-off for days, which is as smart a strategy as the one pet food makers used to practice when they’d starve a dog before filming him tear into a bowl of Alpo. The dog would go too fast and throw up. Same thing, more or less.

The second hard-on killer was my partner. His pic didn’t exactly relay what a screaming sissy he was, and I still have nightmares of him on his back, legs up and out, offering his too-accessible ass to me as I stroked and stroked and stroked, not getting hard. After about ten minutes of this flogging, there was no escaping the awful truth. Cobwebs were growing on the sissy’s ankles. The director had to re-group. And I wasn’t going to get money shot pay. Well, hell with it, I thought. It’s been an experience.

Then, just before we wound up for the day, a Latino stud finally made it to the session - his wife had held him up and then the traffic was a bitch. He stripped, he was getting head, the cameras rolled, and I was suddenly more than ready to fire from all cylinders. Because this fucker was HOT. I defied the ’script’ and jumped into the scene, blasting a load pretty damn fast on my boy’s thigh. And, aside from that satisfaction, I even left with half-money-shot cash.

Me and gay porn. It gets better, so stay tuned.

Your bud in the business,

Jack

True story.

A long time ago I went to school in South Florida. Redneck boys everywhere, and they sniffed out weakness and tore into it like sharks on an unlucky Yellowfin. I got by, somehow. But I used to wonder why another kid was never hassled, when everything about him had ‘target’ painted on it. He was skinny. He was gentle and sweet. He was British, for Christ’s sake. And no high school ape ever harassed him.

Then the answer appeared. I saw it in the showers one day and it looked like it was hanging a few feet between his legs. The boy was hung like the Derby winner. And that was and remains the bottom line in the Great Male Respect Ledger. The other dudes could flex and strut till they passed out, and maybe the mule boy couldn’t even get that monster hard (I hear it’s a prob, when it’s big enough to knock out a wall). Didn’t matter. On as primal a level as it gets, all men bow to the guy who has to tie it to his ankle.

The moral? Straight guys are size queens too, sort of.

by Enrique Cruz

We all have issues: But, I think whether you’re a “Red State” or “Blue State…we can agree that Michael Moore’s “Sicko,” will leave you angry…(luckily, I have health care…but, I know so many who don’t)…

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